


If You Can't Take the Heat

by vodkaanddebauchery



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Bolin really is that good, Broh Week, M/M, Oral Sex, Poor Mako, smut smut smut, technically AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkaanddebauchery/pseuds/vodkaanddebauchery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iroh doesn’t usually take things this fast, but Bolin has a very talented tongue. Mako is traumatized.<br/>Sequel to "How to Make a Racket" and written for Day 6 (Oblivious) of Broh Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Can't Take the Heat

**Author's Note:**

> The AU that “How to Make a Racket” is set in demanded a sequel. Who am I to deny it?

Bolin’s lips are covered in powdered sugar, and Iroh can’t help but think about how cliche it all is, food coming into play _somewhere_ while he’s kissing the owner of a restaurant. He can’t bring himself to care, though, because Bolin’s mouth opens so sweetly for him and he tastes of red bean paste and honey from the plate of sweets he’d shared with Iroh over tea.

And it had been Bolin who’d instigated the kiss. The restaurant was dark and quiet all around them, doors locked, kitchen empty, and in the dim and silent space it’s easy to yield past anything even remotely considered proper, to leave propriety by the wayside. Iroh had reached up, ran his thumb slow across Bolin’s lower lip when they’d had to pause for breath, and could only stare and wonder what this earnest young man was doing to him. 

He’d heard his crew laugh and joke about shore leave - what happens on shore leave stays on shore leave - but three days into this lovely, strange thing they had, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to leave it behind. 

Bolin smiles against the pad of Iroh’s thumb, purses his lips and kisses it. In the farthest reach of the streetlights outside, his eyes take on a shade somewhere between jade and gold, and they’re alight with mischief and delight.  
“Do you wanna come upstairs?” 

Dimly, Iroh connects the door near the kitchen to upstairs, there’s always an upstairs living quarters in buildings like this, but the way Bolin takes his hand and kisses each finger like it’s a privilege to do so is kind of sapping his mental capacities. And then - spirits, the tip of Bolin’s tongue peeks out and he licks at Iroh’s second finger before drawing it slowly into his mouth. Going upstairs suddenly seems like a very pressing issue, one that they need to get on immediately. 

“Yeah, upstairs,” he agrees. He hardly recognizes his own voice. “Upstairs might be nice.” 

Bolin’s smirk around his finger is devious indeed. 

There’s a cramped little stairwell leading up to the second floor, so dark that the younger man has to tear his hands away from Iroh’s shoulder and rear, respectively, to paw around for the light switch. The stairs are steep, ridiculously so, steep enough that they untangle from one another and ascend single-file. Bolin presses his advantage to shake his ass in Iroh’s face, and laughs delightedly when he receives a good-natured swat. 

Upstairs - well, Iroh wasn’t sure what to expect of Bolin’s apartment, he just knew that it was both uncharted territory and the upstanding Prince of the Fire Nation part of his brain currently warring with the _he was sucking on my finger we need to get our pants off right now_ part of his brain was screaming at him for being up there this early on in their relationship. Bolin flips another lightswitch somewhere and it reveals itself to be reasonably-sized and cozy yet covered with a healthy layer of clutter and unsorted clothing, the hallmarks of a bachelor too busy to devote much time to cleaning. The main space is partitioned off, like the restaurant below, with sets of folding screens; there’s a hallway branching off that must lead to the lavatory and bedrooms. Interestingly, the hall is filled with boxes and Iroh can see a mattress, half-hidden behind of the screens in the main room. He chooses not to ask. 

Bolin notices the pair of boxers hanging from one of the screens roughly the same time that Iroh does and flushes the bright red of true mortification, snatching them off and balling them up. He shoves them into a vase on the nearby sideboard. “Sorry, it’s not very clean, I don’t often have the chance to tidy up and -”  
“Don’t worry about it,” Iroh says, smiling. For all the younger man is embarrassed, it’s endearing, and the apartment is messy in a way that feels like home besides. “But I’m pretty sure you didn’t bring me up here for a cleaning party, unless...?”  
“Oh, no, definitely not.” The blush, it seems, is going to be a permanent feature on Bolin’s round face for the rest of the evening, though for entirely different reasons now. “Where were we?” 

They relocate to the bed, or the mattress and tangle of sheets and blankets that passes for a bed in Bolin’s apartment. Iroh’s surprised when he winds up as the one on his back, staring up at the ceiling and the very happy restaurateur looming over him, before the gap between them closes and they’re kissing again. Bolin was right, going upstairs was an excellent idea - lying like this with Bolin atop him there’s scarcely an inch between them, and Iroh had nearly forgotten how amazing physical contact this close could feel. He runs his hands up Bolin’s arms and feels the promise of solid muscle beneath his shirtsleeves, feels the press of Bolin’s erection pressing hot against his, between layers of clothing, when he shifts his hips experimentally. His mouth runs dry and he pulls back, feeling dazed. 

Bolin takes it in stride and pulls his attention elsewhere, to kissing Iroh’s cheek and down his jawline to the expanse of his neck, all pale clean skin waiting to be bitten and bruised. On the side of his neck he leaves a nip that sends Iroh’s blood roaring southward, Bolin’s fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jacket, and everything is going in a direction that the General is really, really okay with, despite never being in this particular configuration before. Bolin pushes the lapels of his jacket aside, and grumbles at the line of buttons on Iroh’s shirt that are currently defending his modesty. Bolin sits back on his heels, presumably to take a breather. 

“Wanna look at you,” he mumbles. He’s wearing an expression that is bare and honest and flushed bright with arousal, for all his actions just now were confident. “Can I? I promise I’ll make it good.” 

There might be something to the mutterings of Iroh’s crew that regulation uniforms are more of a cockblock than being on a ship with hundreds of your coworkers. 

In lieu of answering, Iroh undoes his jacket the rest of the way and gets started on his shirt. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not just yet. Making a happy sound, Bolin sets to assisting him and hones in on his collarbones like a hungry wolfbat when they’re exposed. There there should be nothing sexy about having your skin savaged but when the teeth bite down at the vulnerable juncture of his neck and shoulder and then Bolin _sucks_ , Iroh can’t help but gasp, toes curling in his boots. 

But then - then Bolin drags his tongue, slow and soothing across the bruising angle of bone and skin in a way that’s almost obscene. Iroh’s grateful that he can’t see what Bolin is doing, because he’s dimly aware that he might come in his pants if he could. It’s almost embarassing, how Bolin has him worked up into this sort of state and their pants aren’t even off yet, he’s just left clenching handfuls of Bolin’s shirt and hanging on for dear life. __“You,” he manages, “are a _menace_.”  
“I don’t mean to be,” Bolin says against his clavicle, in a tone suggesting that he really does.  
“Of the worst sort,” Iroh continues.  
“I’ll work on that.”  
“I was hoping you’d work on getting my pants off instead,” Iroh says, trying not to turn red himself. It had, after all, been a very long time. 

At that Bolin looks up at him, eyebrows rising. “That,” he says, “I can _definitely_ work on.”  
And before Iroh can even keep track of what’s happening, Bolin’s off of him and straddling his legs, working industriously on the buttons of Iroh’s waistband. Each brush of his fingers against the front of his trousers, accidental or otherwise, makes Iroh want to scream and bang his head against the wall - so of course instead he takes a centering breath through his nose and instead works on freeing himself from jacket and shirt, because it’s growing far too hot for them anyhow. 

Bolin unzips, leaving Iroh gritting his teeth, and yanks the trousers halfway down Iroh’s thighs without any further ado. Eyes slipping closed with the relief from the pressure, Iroh completely misses the expression on Bolin’s face, mingling hunger and curiosity. 

“Uhm,” Bo says. “I really, really want to suck you off. Are you okay with that?”  
Iroh resists the impulse to groan, but just barely. He opens his eyes, swallows hard. “At this point,” he says, with a self-deprecating laugh, “I’m fine with whatever you want to do, but you’re still a menace.”  
“That’s a yes, then,” Bolin confirms, running his hands up Iroh’s thighs to the smooth curves of his hipbones. 

Roughly five seconds later Iroh’s entire world shrinks down to Bolin’s mouth, his lips and tongue, and what they are doing to his cock. He’s aware that he makes a strangled sound when the tip of Bolin’s tongue meets the flushed head of his cock, lapping up the dampness pooling there. It’s silky and scorching, entirely too good and yet nowhere near enough, and Iroh almost cries with relief when Bolin kisses the head messily before drawing it into his mouth, keeping up a gentle pressure and wrapping a fist around the base. 

Iroh’s been on the receiving end of a few blowjobs in his time, but none of them have ever been this drawn-out or messy or wonderful. Somewhere, in the back of his brain, he knows that Bolin has ‘menace’ status that he’s trying to uphold, but that doesn’t even begin to cover it - jaw loose, the way he slides down Iroh’s cock and slicks it with saliva until he’s practically dripping, drawing back off to lick and tongue the slit like it was the only thing he was born to do. His eyelashes are impossibly dark and long when he closes his eyes and traces downward with his tongue, following the map of the thick veins down and back up again. 

Iroh wants nothing more than to grab on to Bolin’s hair and ride this out, to arch back up into the slick heat of his mouth and fuck against his tongue, but Fire Nation Prince-brain screams _that would be rude_ at him, so he fists his hands into the sheets and tries, tries so very hard, to keep still. It’s hard, though, when Bolin’s intent on sucking his brains and coherency out through his dick, leaving him an oblivious wreck. 

Bolin shifts his grip at the base of his cock, there’s a moment’s hesitation - the tension drains from his face, he exhales, and sinks nearly all the way down onto Iroh’s cock, mouth loose and accommodating around him. And fuck, _fuck_ , Iroh has to close his eyes and almost bite his lip in half to keep from coming right then and there. Somewhere on his periphery is a litany of noises that must be him, except he can’t ever remember sounding that wrecked and desperate, all pleas and moans that rasp low and soft. 

The sounds bleed together with the soft, wet noises that Bolin’s mouth makes around him, the obscene little slurp when Bolin pulls off his cock that does him in. He’s close, so close, his toes are curled tight and he’s barely able to stammer, “Bo - Bolin, I’m going to -” when another noise registers. 

Footfalls, distant, like they’re on the stairs. The door opening. 

Then, “Bo? You left the door downstairs unlocked -” 

Iroh comes, almost before he can help it, and the sound he makes is half-sob, half-shout. It echoes in the apartment, which goes very, very quiet, for all it was filled with the sounds of sex not half a minute ago. 

“Oh, _fuck_ , Bo, leave a tie on the door or something, I didn’t want to - _spirits_ , I’m going to have to go gouge my eyes out now, I’m never setting foot in here again, everything is _unclean_ I never want to see my little brother giving head again, _my eyes_ \- ” 

Bolin’s brother at least has the decency to backtrack down the stairs, bitching at the top of his lungs the entire time. Iroh thumps his head back on the mattress, where the pillow should be yet somehow isn’t, and exhales. 

Bolin crawls back up the mattress so they’re level, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. And that shouldn’t be hot, not at all, but Iroh’s cock gives a weak twitch of interest anyway. _No_ , he reprimands himself. _Not your turn any more._

“I was,” he says weakly, “rather hoping to meet your brother under different circumstances. Dinner, maybe. Lunch would have worked too.”  
Bolin considers, and shrugs. “Nah. As far as I’m concerned we’re even now. One time he and his girlfriend came home and started fucking and didn’t even notice me on the couch.”  
“Charming. Is this a talent that you two have? Somehow removing other peoples’ brains through sexual contact?” 

The grin that Bolin gives him is cheeky, and makes him want to kiss him again. “For all Mako likes to pretend that I don’t have a sex life, I’m just willing to chalk it up to us being that good.”


End file.
